


Calling The Shots

by veronamay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Biting, Community: blindfold_spn, Explicit Language, M/M, Plot What Plot, Rimming, Unbeta'd, Wall Sex, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-10
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From this prompt on <a href="http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com">blindfold_spn</a>:  <i>Sam/Dean, biting, rough sex, marking.  Toppy-rough-mandhandling-marking-you-up-talking-filthy-in-your-ear-possessive-as-all-hell!Dean. Sam really, really likes it.  Hell, I just wanna see Dean fucking Sam into next week.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling The Shots

Sam is never allowed to drink again. This is one of very few thoughts getting through the haze in Dean's mind as he drives them back from the bar. Sam's lounging in shotgun, loose and relaxed with a sunny grin on his face that makes Dean's heart clench and his teeth grind at the same time.

It's not that he doesn't like to see Sam like this, kicked back and free of his usual cloud of worryguiltpain. It's just that Sam is, well ... a bit of a tease. Especially in public, where he knows it'll rile Dean up. They'd only had about four shots before Dean'd had enough of Sam flirting with everything that went past their table. He'd all but dragged Sam out by the scruff of his neck, ignoring the knowing looks and Sam's delighted laughter when he threw him into the car.

Now, he's parking the Impala in front of their motel room and gripping the wheel with a white-knuckled grip, trying to maintain some control. Sam's been staring at him for the past ten minutes, mouth open and pink tongue just touching the edge of his bottom lip. He looks completely debauched and they haven't even started yet.

Dean hauls him out of the car and marches him to the room--or tries to, anyway. Sam just kind of melts back into him, letting Dean handle most of his weight. That just gets Dean more wound up, thinking that Sam would probably be like this with _anyone_ right now.

"Inside," he growls, twisting the key in the lock and shoving Sam through the door. Sam stumbles on the ratty carpet and nearly falls, raking a hand through messy, tangled hair.

"Whoa there, hotshot. Easy on the merchandise, yeah?"

"Fuck you." Dean gets in his personal space and shoves him again, both hands hard against his chest. "The fuck was all that shit in the bar, huh?"

Sam looks at him slyly through his lashes, dimples showing. "Just havin' a good time, Dean. 'M allowed."

"Eyeing up everything on two legs is _not_ a good time," Dean snarls. "Not when I gotta watch you do it."

Sam's laugh is just this side of mocking.

"Payback's a bitch, isn't it? I had to watch you do it for long enough. Seems only fair I get my turn."

He's entirely too smug about it, standing there grinning down at Dean with a glint of sheer wickedness in his eyes, supremely confident in himself. It's enough to shred Dean's last nerve--he steps in again, close enough to share breath, close enough to get Sam's eyes widening as it registers just how angry Dean is.

"Nobody gets a turn with you but me," Dean breathes right into Sam's open mouth. "Are we clear?"

Sam's mouth opens and closes a couple of times. His throat works as he swallows hard, and Dean is close enough to feel Sam getting hard against his hip. It soothes him a little, knowing that Sam hadn't been hard until just now, knowing he probably didn't mean any of the smiles and winks he'd been throwing out like free candy at the bar.

"Jerk," Sam manages at last, a ghost of his usual voice. "Think you own me like the car? I'm not a fucking toy you can keep to yourself, Dean."

Dean's smile is slow, wide, and full of teeth. He sees Sam's pupils expand in reaction, feels a sudden wave of heat rising off his skin. He drags his teeth over the stubbled edge of Sam's jaw, biting down hard before pulling back to speak.

"Think again. _Bitch_."

Sam whines low in his throat and pushes forward. Dean shoves his thigh hard against his brother's dick, swallowing Sam's noises with a deep, wet kiss. He grabs Sam's wrists and holds them behind Sam's back, squeezing tight when Sam flexes against his grip. Sam moans and grinds against him, sweat already darkening his t-shirt, the roots of his hair.

"Fucking jerk," Sam says again when Dean lets him up for air. "You treat everyone you fuck like this?"

"You act like a bitch, I'm gonna fuck you like a bitch."

Dean yanks Sam off balance and turns him so his back is to Dean's chest, his hands now trapped between them. Dean presses in close to keep them there and gets his arms around Sam's chest, one hand over his heart while the other fumbles with Sam's belt.

Sam's laughing now, disbelieving, turning his head to look at Dean. "Seriously? Gonna put me on my face, Dean? Push me into the mattress and fuck me till I cry?"

He sounds so fucking sure of himself, so sure that Dean won't go there, and it drives Dean up the goddamned wall. He bares his teeth and bites Sam's neck, hard, drawing blood to the surface and sucking to make a deep purple bruise that'll show for days. Sam's groan punches out of him like a shout and he goes rigid in Dean's hold; when Dean pulls back to lick over the wound, he shudders and exhales hard, his body now tense in a different way.

Dean gets Sam's jeans open and shoves them one-handed down over his hips. He dives instantly inside Sam's underwear, no messing around, getting Sam's dick in a tight grip and starting up a rough pulling that drags rhythmic grunts from Sam's throat. At first Dean thinks it's too much, too hard, but then Sam's shoulders relax against him and his thighs open wider, giving Dean a little more room to work. Dean grinds his rock-hard cock against Sam's ass, setting up a counter rhythm to his strokes, and feels Sam pressing back into it.

"You like that?" he asks. He catches Sam's ear between his teeth and bites gently, then harder when Sam angles his neck for more. "Yeah, you like it. 'M gonna do more than this, though. Gonna get you naked and get my hands all over you. See what you taste like, maybe fuck you good and hard against the wall." He grins against Sam's neck. "Bet I can make you scream."

"I dare you," Sam pants, straining into his hand. "I fucking _double_ dare you, fucker."

Dean shoves him forward, making Sam trip over the jeans still around his lower legs. Sam stumbles into the wall, hands wide to catch himself, and Dean's hands pin his wrists where they land.

"Stay," Dean orders, emphasising the order with a squeeze. "Move them and I'll make you fucking sorry."

He waits for Sam's nod--slow in coming, little bastard still trying to fucking test him--and runs his hands over Sam's arms down to his waist, and back up his chest under his clothes. They should've taken a minute to get undressed, he thinks, but there's something hot about doing it like this, because fuck if he wants to stop now. The want is hot in his gut, urgent, pulling him to get Sam pliant and moaning in his grip, taking everything Dean can give him. Dean goes with it, drops to his knees and pushes Sam's ass wide open.

Sam jerks hard at the first lick, makes a strangled noise quickly muffled. Dean rubs his stubble over the soft insides of his brother's thighs and licks again, bites the firm round of cheek and licks again, then dismisses the idea of going easy and stabs his tongue right into the centre of Sam's puckered hole. Sam keens loudly for about half a second and then falls into a steady moaning as Dean sucks and thrusts his tongue as deep as he can get it, which is pretty fucking deep the way Sam opens up for him. He gets a finger in there as well, pulling the hole wider, rubs his tongue hard around and just inside until Sam is punching the wall and saying, " _Dean, Dean, fuck, Jesus_ ," in a voice that sounds like he's dying.

Dean slides to his feet and runs his hands up Sam's spine, around to his chest and plays with his nipples. He leans in close and whispers into Sam's ear.

"So fucking hot for me, aren't you? So fucking eager to get my dick in you."

He lays down another sucking bite on Sam's collarbone, licks up the long arch of his neck and stabs two fingers inside without warning. Sam's knees buckle momentarily, and Dean kicks them wider apart, one arm around Sam's waist while the other works inside him.

Sam's still making noises, incoherent words and groans that sound like they're ripping his throat to shreds. Dean pulls his hips away from the wall, Sam's ass tilted at the perfect height for him to fuck. He gets his jeans undone and shimmies them down far enough to free his cock--thank God he went commando tonight, no fucking around with underwear--and pulls his fingers out of Sam's ass.

"Are you wet for me?" he growls, reaching down to feel Sam's cock. "God, you are. So fucking hot, Sam. Fucking dripping with it, Jesus." He gathers up as much pre-come as he can, slicking his cock with it, keeping one hand on Sam's dick as he pushes the head of his erection against Sam's hole.

Sam honest to God _whimpers_ , arches his back and tilts further, fingers clawing against the wall. Dean feeds the head of his dick into Sam's ass, slow and teasing, ignoring Sam's efforts to get him in deep and taking his own sweet time about it.

"Fucking tease," he gasps at the halfway point, circling his hips just for the hell of it. "Gonna fuck you so hard you'll taste my come for a week. Make you remember this next time you wanna flirt with the entire fucking bar."

" _Dean_ , Jesus," Sam's pleading, trying to hump back into him, sweat soaking through both of his shirts. "Come on, fuck me, you fucking _asshole_ , fuck."

Dean slides in the rest of the way with one hard thrust and Sam fucking _yelps_ and shuts up real quick. Dean's balls are right up against Sam's ass, hips digging into the sweet firm rounds of his cheeks, and it's so fucking hot and tight that for a second he forgets how to breathe.

"Nobody else gets to see this." He snaps his hips once, twice, feels Sam shudder and clench around him. "Nobody else gets to put their fucking hands on you, get inside you like this. This is _mine_ , Sam, understand?"

He pulls out almost all the way and slams home again, fast and hard, hands tight on Sam's hips to keep him in place. Sam's arms are shaking, head hanging low, the back of his neck showing pale and vulnerable. Dean grinds his hips in a slow figure eight, sets his mouth over that soft skin and licks, sucks, draws it up all pink and pretty until it's glowing with blood and heat. Sam's gasping for breath and shoving back, trying to get him to thrust, and Dean decides he's had enough teasing for now.

He pulls back and surges forward again, keeps pushing until Sam's up hard against the wall, face shoved against the plaster and nowhere to go. Dean kicks his legs wide again and thrusts in and up, deep and fast, a steady in-out-in-out rhythm that makes his hips ache. Sam's hands have slid down the wall as if the strength is gone from his arms, but he's still taking Dean's dick, pushing back into every stroke, his voice a broken rasp urging Dean to keep fucking him, harder, deeper, faster, please. Dean stops thinking--turns off the part of his brain that always worries about Sam's safety--and lets himself go, fucks into his brother the way he wants to, short heavy pounding stabs of his dick that push right into Sam's prostate and deliver the promised screams.

He feels Sam shudder endlessly, coming untouched, fucks him right through it and keeps going when Sam slumps against the wall. The friction is incredible, not quite enough lubrication for a smooth glide, wet enough not to hurt either of them but nothing like fucking a girl. Sam is tight around him, his post-orgasm pulse throbbing hard against the head of Dean's cock, and that's what gets him, sends him over the edge mid-thrust. His hips stutter, driving against Sam's ass for a few long seconds, trying to get impossibly deeper until his balls go tight and he comes like a freight train, his dick spasming and jerking what feels like a pint of come, enough to make the last few thrusts really fucking wet and drag an extra spasm out of him.

Dean collapses against Sam's back and tries to slow his racing heart. He wraps his arms around Sam's waist and lays a kiss between his shoulder blades, humming in contentment when Sam rubs his head back against the top of Dean's. Sam's supporting both of them with one shoulder against the wall; his hands come down to cover Dean's and squeeze, tangling their fingers together.

"Made you scream," Dean says smugly. "Ha."

"Oh God, shut the fuck up." Sam's laugh is rusty. "You're a fucking sex god, okay? Happy now?"

"Yup."

Sam snorts and goes quiet again, fingers tracing up and down Dean's forearm. Dean presses idle kisses over the skin under his lips, pulling back after a few minutes and carefully disengaging. Sam winces and makes a noise of disgust when Dean's come starts dripping down his thighs, but he spreads his knees when Dean massages over his fucked-out hole, spreading it around.

"Shower?" Dean asks.

"Yes," Sam agrees firmly. "And then some fucking cuddling. Shut up," he adds when Dean makes a face. "You got to fuck me halfway into next week, so now I get to be the big spoon. I'm sure your masculinity can handle it."

"Whatever." Dean huffs as if the idea is revolting and leads the way to the bathroom.


End file.
